


Consequences

by cyanideinsomnia



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Edging, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Bondage, Lucio (The Arcana) Route, M/M, Nonbinary Apprentice (The Arcana), Not Canon Compliant, Other, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Teasing, making a goat cry with light bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22032976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideinsomnia/pseuds/cyanideinsomnia
Summary: Hypothetical Post-Upright Ending for Lucio. A little harmless fun takes a dark turn when some repressed trauma is knocked loose.
Relationships: Apprentice/Lucio (The Arcana), Lucio (The Arcana)/Original Character(s), The Devil/Lucio (The Arcana)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 101





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> this was written at like book 9?? 8?? early in lucios route, specifically bc we noticed there's a lot of bondage going on
> 
> things have updated since then, so inaccuracies abound, but at least the devs let him keep his arm

“How.. uh. Quaint.”

Lucio wasn’t entirely sure what he expected his magician’s living space to look like, but it definitely was much smaller and more .. _home-made_ than anything he could have pictured. Closer to the crowded longhouses of his youth than the luxury of the Palace. There were even a few furs amongst various magical knickknacks strewn around the main room, and more macabre oddities in packed shelves.

Was that a goat skull?

He felt a gentle shove against his back as Arsenic came up the creaky old steps behind him, turning to see a comical little pout on their face, not serious in the slightest. They were wearing a short black sleep robe, obviously not meant for going out of doors, otherwise utterly naked.

“If you don’t like it, you can always stay somewhere else,” The firm, possessive hand on his hip suggested otherwise. “I’m sure they’ve got a room open at the Rowdy Raven, if you don’t mind the noise.”

“I want _my_ room.” He huffed.

“Nadia said the wing’s not finished yet.. and besides that, I don’t know if she’ll let you stay at the Palace anyway. You’re a regular citizen now, just like me.”

There must have been a visible flash of pain on his face at that, because they immediately leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, a distraction he would gladly fall for every time. A nice reminder that though he was unwanted out there, he was very much wanted in here. 

(Part of him was still convinced Noddy would gladly keep him if given the chance, if not as a Count then as something of a pet, but he knew better than to say that.)

Arsenic finally released him with a little smirk playing on their lips, mischief dancing in their bright green eyes. “Let me welcome you _properly_ , my lord.”

They began to pull him towards the small, homey looking bed, just barely enough room for two, worn black comforters with starlight sewn into them above similar dark sheets. He allowed himself to be led, compelled by greedy kisses and insistent hands tugging at his clothes, shirt wide open and then dropped to the floor before he could blink. 

The only thing that gave him pause was how bronze fingertips shifted to gently unlatch the pointed armor covering his prosthetic, starting with his pauldron. At his bewildered look, they stopped, guilt and curiosity dancing across their face.

“Sorry, you can leave it on, I just didn’t want you to think you need it in here,” They murmured against his chest. “Just let _me_ do the scratching this time.”

After a long moment of deliberation, he shifted to help them with the more fiddly bits in the gaps and along his fingers, removing his own golden claws and letting them drop to the old wooden nightstand. Trying to ignore how the last time he hadn’t been armored, he was on his deathbed. He felt naked long before his pants dropped to the floor alongside the other regalia.

Arsenic leaned forward to press a gentle, worshipful kiss to where gold met flesh, relaxing him as they followed down the exposed metal and glimmering magic in the gaps between, until their lips rested against his blunted fingertips. He idly twisted his palm to cup their cheek, touch still light as though he expected to hurt them. 

He found he didn’t _want_ to hurt them, not unless they asked. 

Lucio tugged their face back up to his with golden fingers against their jaw, his flesh hand reaching to pull them on top of him as he leaned languidly back against the bed, resting it along the curve of their back once they were straddling his waist. 

“I’m feeling more welcome already,” A contented sigh against their lips, grazing his own against them in another kiss, noting the glint of mischief hadn’t yet left their gaze. “But I’m pretty sure you’ve got more planned than just this.”

He saw the rope in their other hand, hardly subtle and easily avoided. 

With feigned obliviousness he let both hands trail along their shoulders, curling his fingers into the fabric of their robe in order to start tugging it free. He managed to expose one dark shoulder before his hands were pinned above his head, rope looped around both wrists and cinched tightly together, fastening the other end to the bed frame.

“Not too tight?” 

He made a pass at tugging at his bonds, the rope holding firm and yet loose enough he could ostensibly pull himself free. “It’ll do. Your strategy needs a little work, though.”

“ _Your_ strategy needs work,” They shot back with a giggle, affecting a nasal whine he realized was meant to be a caricature of his own voice. 

When they slid off him to the bed and withdrew more rope, he decided to make it more difficult for them to capture his legs, jerking and twisting them like pale eels - and just because they managed to harness _one_ ankle did not mean the game had stopped for the other, playfully pushing them away with his heel.

By the time both legs were tied, they were breathing hard from both the fight and barely contained laughter, slumped haphazardly against his chest as they tried to calm themself down enough to continue tormenting him. They glanced up towards his face.. and immediately burst into laughter again, either at whatever they saw there or a private joke.

“I just thought of the safeword,” They explained, which was hardly an explanation.

He blinked. “What is it?”

“Consequences.”

Another slow blink, and then he felt a tense, warning grin stretching his lips, his tone a bit colder than intended. In another life, this would have heralded unnecessary violence. 

“... what are you trying to imply, my dear Arsenic?” 

“Don’t worry about it, just remember that’s the word,” They smiled, leaning over him to kiss him on the lips once more, and despite his better judgment he let it distract him again. “The most important part here is that I’ve _got_ you.”

His captor immediately swooped down and mercilessly showered his face and neck in soft kisses, like a swarm of warm butterflies against his skin, clearly taking advantage of his helpless state. 

“I’m a very valuable hostage, you know,” He purred between kisses, a more natural grin playing at the corners of his lips. “You could name anything you could possibly want as a ransom - even the Palace itself, and they’d have to give it to you.”

His magician chuckled, pressing a kiss to his throat before leaning up to start tugging themselves free of their robe, unhurried. “Funny, I already have what I want right here.”

“And what, exactly, do you plan to do with your prize?”

The robe fell softly to the floor beside the bed, sunlight glimmering across their exposed dark skin like a radiant golden replacement. For a moment Lucio forgot about the pressure against his wrists, instinctively reaching to caress the curve of their back and lurching forward awkwardly against his bonds instead.

His fingers curled and his face burned as Arsenic’s musical laughter filled the tiny living space, though they swiftly leaned back in for another kiss to chase away his shame, pulling away just as swiftly when he began to lean into it, a soft whine escaping his throat.

“I’m thinking you need a refresher course on being patient.” They answered, finally, fingertips lazily trailing along his collarbones. “You’re pretty rusty - it might take the whole _day_.”

“The.. the whole day?” He repeated, stupidly. 

It took a long moment for that to sink in, leaving him both shaken and flustered in equal measures. An _entire day_ spent tied up and completely at their mercy? Would he be able to last that long? He wasn’t a quick fuck by any means, but he couldn’t quite comprehend the stamina that would be required for that.

They chuckled again, his breath hitching as their too-soft touches trailed down his chest. “You’re the one that keeps saying I need to spend more quality time with you. Would you rather I release you?”

He swallowed and shook his head, rewarded with another deep kiss that drew away to follow the path of their fingers down his chest, the hands themselves slowly stroking along his sides, his stomach, moving past his hips to caress his spread thighs. He automatically arched into the touch, trying to guide soft fingers a bit further north - only to have them pull away from him entirely, leaving his skin burning for more.

Only when he sank back down against the bed did they resume touching him, achingly soft, almost reverent, slowly exploring his body as though they’d never touched him before. When he tugged against the rope to press into it, the hands moved away again. He had an inkling of what they were trying to do, but he couldn’t help it, he craved it, whimpering softly as the gap between touches grew longer.

They continued to avoid his already throbbing cock, though the touches were gradually drawing closer, fingertips skirting across the sensitive skin of his inner thighs before fluttering out of reach once more. He forced his hips to stay still for as long as he could, trembling with the effort and whimpering louder when his control broke just before they pressed against his shaft.

A maddening dance of give and take, steps he couldn’t help but stumble, chasing pleasure that fell further and further out of his reach the harder he tried to chase it. It had been denied to him for so long, long before he was tied to this bed, he couldn’t help but devour the tiniest scraps offered to him, fully aware that a bitten hand refuses to feed.

“Please..” It came out as more a breath than a plea, voice strained with need. “I.. I can’t…”

“You really _are_ rusty,” They mused, though he noticed a flicker of concern in their eyes before they leaned in for another kiss, this time allowing him to press up into it, rough and deep and desperate as though this was the last kiss he’d ever have.

When their hand finally stroked along his cock, the resulting jolt of pleasure that rocketed through him almost _hurt_ , hips jerking up against them as if compelled, muffling a sharp cry against their lips. Their grip was still so agonizingly light, barely touching him as they pumped his shaft - and again the hand pulled away, his body juddering in its absence.

The dance began anew, only directed towards his cock, touches gradually growing rougher and faster when they were there and agonizing when they were gone. They seemed to be showing mercy on how much he could move this time, allowing his hips to twitch but drawing away when he thrashed bodily against his bonds. 

Heat pooled in his gut, overwhelming, drawing further down with each stroke and shift, his head lolling back against the bedframe with a helpless whimper as he waited for the wave of pleasure to crest--

And then they were getting up and off the bed, gazing down at his shaking, sweaty body, a flush turning their dark skin darker.

“ … you know, I think we need a break. I should probably start dinner.”

Lucio could only stare at them in groggy disbelief. Did they seriously intend to _leave him_ like this? He could feel the edge of release slipping out of his reach, though achingly close, the air of the room painfully cold and empty against his cock, unable to rut against anything to drive him over the precipice on his own.

Arsenic smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to his sweaty, burning forehead before turning away, their shapely naked ass disappearing from view. The kitchen wasn’t that far away, but at this moment it could be on the other side of the city for all he knew.

“Get _back_ here and finish what you started,” The former Count demanded, greeted only by a musical chuckle and no magician falling at his bound feet.

He sunk back down against the bed with a frustrated sigh, shifting restlessly against the ropes drawn too tight against his skin and prosthetic by his earlier desperate thrashing. If they had let him keep his armor, he would have broken free by now, although he knew that would spoil the game. 

The red light of sunset spilled from the window like blood, painting the bed and his parted, trembling legs a brilliant crimson. He had lasted a lot longer than he’d initially expected, or they’d started later than expected. He wanted to believe it was the former, given the ache in his hips and shoulders. He didn’t want to think about the alternative for that ache.

His head fell back against the worn pillows, eyes closed, the darkness behind them tinted a too warm, too familiar red. His senses were annoyingly heightened in this state - he could feel the rough fibers in the sheets beneath him, rougher than he was accustomed to but not unbearable. The ropes were hot against his bare flesh, a constant red pressure around his wrists and ankles.

They felt hard, too hard, like points of metal biting into his skin. 

Echoes of burning chains coiled around his naked body, unbidden, slithering against him like distant vipers. He immediately tensed up, a shock of cold dread in his chest extinguishing what was left of his arousal, encouraging the sensation to press closer, more vivid.

A familiar red fog pooled into his mind like another wave of blood, rendered faint with time but no less frightening, memories of ancient burning magic seeping into his muscles and locking them tight in place, trapping him here, dark and numb and painful, like his body was dying again without him.

His throat seized up, pressed closed by the memory of a tight leash. He could hardly breathe, both for the chain cinched around his neck and the oppressive pressure against his chest, as though something was pinning him to the bed, hot and heavy and familiar. His eyes refused to open, scared to find predatory, monstrous crimson ones staring back.

It wasn’t possible. They defeated him. He was a free man.

Wasn’t he?

Old instincts commanded him to remain still and let whatever happened happen, trembling hard against his bonds, rattling the bed. Don’t struggle. Struggling would make it worse. If he didn’t fight, the Devil might be merciful.

If he let him take him - or kill him - he might spare his magician a similar fate.

He couldn’t remember what Arsenic had told him to say to let him out. Just one word. Rising panic blotted out the idea of _any_ words, leaving only quick labored breaths and the beginning of terrified sobs, waiting for the coming agony.

“Lucio? Lucio! Are you okay?!”

Instead of sharp teeth or claws he felt soft fingers against his cheek, and yet he flinched back from them anyway. He couldn’t trust it wasn’t the Devil playing nice, though he remembered his hands were so much rougher.

The pungent scent of myrrh broke through the oppressive echoes of burning metal, allowing him the chance to open his eyes again, whimpering as the world shifted red before worried green eyes fell into focus. For a moment he saw a flash of white and crimson behind them, had to warn them, had to escape.

“He’s here-- he’s coming for me-- _don’t let him take me_ \--”

He couldn’t move, paralyzed with fear, simply watching his magician with wild animal eyes as they loosened the ropes around his wrists and ankles before dragging him close to their chest, a small pouch lying forgotten on the bed next to his legs.

“I’m here, it’s okay, you’re safe,” They were saying, repeated against his ear like a mantra as they gently stroked his hair. 

Lucio shuddered against them, trying to forget that the Devil had done the same gesture before. The Devil wouldn’t bother to comfort him like this. His eyes burned with tears and myrrh, chest hitching with renewed sobs as his body slowly began to come alive again, shaking arms curling around Arsenic’s waist like a lifeline, burrowing his face in their neck.

For a long, excruciating moment he just allowed himself to be held, digging his fingers tightly into their flesh to keep them from slipping from his grip, distantly hoping he wasn’t hurting them, that the pain wouldn’t drive them to abandon him like this. They were the only person in the world he could trust. He couldn't bear it.

“I’m-- I’m sorry,” He whimpered into their neck, feeling horribly raw and vulnerable and yet unable to stop. “I fucked it up. I fucked it all up. Please don’t hate me, I’ll make it up to you, I’ll do anything--”

They silenced his helpless, desperate simpering with a soft kiss to his lips, only pulling away when his body relaxed further against them. “You don’t have to do anything, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“I’m safe.” He repeated, softly, mostly to convince himself.

“We defeated him. He can’t get you.”

“He can’t… are you sure?” His eyes nervously flicked towards the dying red light in the window, as though the beast was waiting for him there.

Arsenic kissed him again, a shaky little smile on their lips. “I’m sure. He’s not going anywhere.”

The former Count finally, slowly shifted so that he was leaning against them rather than clinging, loathe to leave the safety of their arms just yet. He could feel his mascara running, likely smearing across their skin. In the absence of mortal terror, he felt disgusted at himself, although he knew better than to say anything about it.

They probably knew, judging by that look. He stubbornly pressed his own kiss to their lips to stop that thought from surfacing out loud, forcibly driving the whole mess back down to the dark place it came from. There was a time and place for facing demons and butt-ass naked in someone else’s bed was neither of those things.

“In the future I probably should ask you if you’re okay with stuff like this.” They sighed, gesturing to the ropes. “And you should probably tell me if you’re not, _before_ it gets this far.”

“I _used_ to be okay with it.” He muttered, sulkily. 

“Things change, it’s okay. We’ll find something more fun to do.”

Lucio glanced over their shoulder, towards the kitchen. A plume of black smoke was drifting towards the ceiling, thankfully a sight and smell far enough removed from the Devil’s magic that it only caused a slight twinge of fear, rather than another full-blown descent into panic.

“.. like setting dinner on fire?”

Arsenic’s eyes widened. “Fuck!”

They immediately released him to barrel towards the kitchen, stumbling over their own robe on the floor and nearly tumbling down with it. Laughter like broken glass filled the small living space, his magician shooting him a dirty look before they disappeared from sight once more.

This time he had the privilege of following them, although he absolutely was _not_ about to lend a hand. 

Probably. Maybe. If they asked.


End file.
